Scrooge You
by Nymbis
Summary: Lambert is an old, crotchety meaniehead who hates Christmas! Can the spirits of Christmas Past, Present and Future change his ways? A DOTM parody of A Christmas Carol featuring a rather festive Atrox, teenybopper spirits, and Tiny Tymmie. Finished!
1. Prolog: Kicking Puppies is not Cool

_Scrooge You._

By: Nymbis

_Summary: _Lambert is an old, crotchety meanie-head who hates Christmas! Can the spirits of Christmas Past, Present and Future change his ways? A DOTM parody of_ A Christmas Carol_ featuring a rather festive Atrox, teenybopper spirits, and Tiny Tymmie.

**AN: **I was feeling festive this holiday season, so I started to write this. Enjoy!

_Prolog _

o.o.o

Once upon a time, there was a very, very, very old man. He lived alone, worked long hours, and in his spare time did needle point. He was grouchy and cynical, not to mention corrupt off of his own power-hungry ways. He kicked puppies, sprayed children with hoses, and downloaded music illegally off of the internet. Yet that wasn't even the worst thing about this man, oh no.

This man _hated _Christmas.

He never attended office parties, never sang carols, and always gave crappy giftcards to stores that no one likes as presents. He hated eggnog, hated Christmas lights, and even cut pine trees into tiny bits out of spite.

Yes, he was an awful man. A horrible, despicable man.

One year the moon Goddess Selene got rather annoyed with his holiday hate-mongering, so she decided to send down some of her spirits to help change his wicked, awful ways.

Will they succeed?

Not likely, the guy is a rather huge jerk.

A Daughters of the Moon Christmas Carol Parody, based off of a fourth grade play and _slightly _abridged.


	2. Merry Fourth Week of December

_Scrooge You._

_Disclaimer: _I do not own My Little Pony or Christmas. Too bad about the Christmas, if I owned it I could make a fortune!

**Act One: Merry Fourth Week of December**

Lambert sat at his rather large desk in his rather large cubicle, clicking away frantically with his mouse as he began to forward copious amounts of email to his fledglings. As always, he was wearing his patented Black Cloak of Doom. His office building held no pictures, no Christmas wreaths or décor, and certainly no heat source whatsoever. Heat was for the weak, manly men worked in sub-zero temperatures.

Lambert was a very prosperous businessman who ran his own company. What did his company do exactly you ask? Well, no one was quite sure, although occasionally they did produce some very high-quality and hand-sewn quilts. You see, Lambert was a quite skilled needlepoint, embroidery, and quilting buff, and he thought it wise to play to his strengths. Even though he actually didn't do any of the work in his company, he left that all to his staff of one, a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed Prince of the Night.

Speaking of that imbecile, Lambert sat up slowly from his seat, his eyes peering over the wall of his cubicle to the adjacent one, where there sat Stanton, carefully sewing together two pieces of felt and wincing occasionally as his frigid cold fingers got pricked by the needle. Lambert watched him for a few moments, waiting forhim to slip up.

Sure enough, after about five or so minutes, Stanton looked cautiously around, slowly placed the felt down, and withdrew the latest _Sons of the Dark_ novel from his desk drawer. Still paranoid, he looked around again before opening it to the dog-eared page.

"Stanton!" Lambert cried, causing the poor lackey to straighten abruptly and fall out of his chair, "Back to work! I pay you to quilt damn it, not to read about hunky teen eye candy!"

Stanton stuck out his lower lip and began to stare doe-fully out into space, "I'm so sorry sir, I'll never slack off on the job again."

Lambert paused, entranced by Stanton's darn good looks. He then shook his head, his evil gene returning, "You stop with that angstful pouting right now!"

Stanton sighed and stopped the entrancing angstful pouting, remorsefully picking up the needle and thread yet again, occasionally sending a longing stare to the cover picture of Obie.

Lambert nodded and gave himself a satisfied smirk, "That'll be the end of that." He said to no one in particular, eagerly returning to his email surveys, determined to fill them out and send them to fifteen people so he wouldn't have a bad sex life for the rest of his days like the email had threatened.

Suddenly, the tinkly little bell charm that hung from his door and served no apparent purpose rang. Lambert groaned, as it had just disturbed his thought process for the witty response to question number twenty on the survey. "Who in the seven hells?" He muttered, leaning back in his chair and eerily peering over the cubicle wall yet again.

"Hi ya!" Came a chirpy voice from behind him, causing Lambert to suffer a near heart attack.

He turned around abruptly and his face fell, "You! What are _you_ doing here!"

Catty stood behind his chair, rocking back and forth on her heels, a huge Christmas wreath in her hand, "Nothing. Just came by to wish you a Merry Christmas Lambert!"

Lambert narrowed his eyes in confusion, "What! Why? Didn't I send you to an infernal netherworld via lightening bolt of doom a few years back?"

Catty gave a huge grin, "I know! I actually hate you quite a bit, and I decided the other day that forcing my Christmas cheer onto you was the most effective way to piss you off!" She grinned hanging the wreath delicately onto the wall and pulling a long strand of colored lights from her pocket and draping them all over his desk.

"You miserable cretin!" He seethed, tearing the lights and wreath off of the wall and effectively stomping on them repetitively, "These are my working hours! Buzz off!"

Catty mock sobbed, "Come now, Lambert, it's Christmas Eve! A time of songs-"

Lambert paled.

"Spending time with your family-"

His face began to acquire a faint puce shade.

"Spreading love, goodwill, and cheer-"

Then he puked a little bit in his mouth.

"And giving to those in need-"

"Stop it!" He outburst, "Gross! Chris- the end of Decemberand you are a big waste of my production time! Get out of here, can't you see I'm busy forcing Stanton to do all the work!"

Catty sighed, a mischievous glint in her eye, "Oh fine, I'll leave, but-" She trailed off smiling, "I just wanted to invite you to a Christmas feast with me and my whipping- uh- boyfriend, Kyle tomorrow."

"Well I'm not coming!" He protested childishly, stamping his foot on the ground, "I'm going to embroider and fill out these internet surveys while you and your little hubby waste your lives! Ha! Take that! How has love, goodwill and cheer ever helped you anyhow?"

Catty shrugged, "It made you mouth-vomit a little bit."

"Get out."

She snickered and immediately headed towards the doorway, pausing for a second in front of Stanton's cubicle, "This is from Serena for Christmas." She said, handing him a pink box with a lovely bow, "She said it contained unmentionables."

Stanton's eyes lightened, he was already having a better holiday.

Catty then strut, because Catty struts from place to place, out the door, humming 'Jingle Bells', just to enrage Lambert more.

Lambert exhaled angrily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He then turned to see Stanton leaning in the doorway awkwardly, "Did you finish the My Little Pony-themed quilt yet?" He asked.

Stanton shifted from foot to foot, "Um, actually, I wanted to know if I could have tomorrow off?"

Lambert's jaw dropped, "You too? A day off, for Chris-" He paled and almost puked again, "The fourth week of December! Next you'll want a raise over $3.50 an hour, with proper and legal working conditions! Maybe even a heat source! Oh, this is anarchy Stanton, ANARCHY!"

"But my Follower posse want me to share a Christmas dinner with them comprised of stolen canned foods from the homeless shelter!" He protested.

Lambert slammed his fist against his desk, "Then fine! But I want you here extra early the next day!" He paused, "And I want _two _My Little Pony quilts! With sequins sewn into the fabric! Pink sequins!"

Stanton nodded feverishly, "Yes sir Lambert, thank you sir!" He said, turning around and heading back to his cubicle.

Lambert sighed and shook his head in disgust, "Who cares about stupid old fourth week of December anyway." He then began to complete the section of his survey entitled 'WHAT YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL!1:'

There was a knock on his wall and he turned to see Stanton standing there, yet again. "What is it now!"

Stanton looked at his timepiece that was not a watch because he was too poor to afford a watch. Instead he used a sundial, "It's time to close up sir."

Lambert sneered, "It can't be," Then he looked at his sundial, which he had not because he was poor but because he was cheap, "By gods, you're right for once meathead. It's a flicker of a shadow passed the fifth dash."

Stanton inclined his head, "Good night Sir," An evil look crossed his face, "And Merry Christma-"

His statement was cut off by Lambert chucking a sundial at his head.


	3. Who the Hell are You?

_Scrooge You_

**AN**: This chap goes out to **nilfheim** for being my first (coughonlycough) reviewer! Thanks! .

_Disclaimer: _I don't own _A Muppet Christmas Carol._ Or Doom.

**Act Two: Who the Hell are You? **

Lambert sighed as he hung up his patented Black Cloak of Doom on the coat hanger when he entered his empty, desolate, funny-smelling apartment. It was a rather lonely place, for there were no pictures, no Christmas wreaths or décor, and certainly no heat source. Heat sources were for the weak, manly men lived in sub-zero temperatures.

Hey, actually, it was set up almost exactly the same as his work cubicle. I guess we need to add 'interior-design inept' to the list of qualities that describe Lambert.

Anyways, Lambert headed over to the mini-fridge where he stored his food, as he was quite famished from the long day of bossing Stanton around. He opened it to reveal a plethora of non-alcoholic six packs and several microwaveable chicken potpies. Grinning like a fiend, he removed a potpie from the mini-fridge and placed it over the stove in a pot. Now, many a person would think that this didn't make sense, but to Lambert, cooking potpies in a pot was the only way to go.

Nodding contently at his fine meal, he turned away from the unattended open flame and went towards his bedroom to change into his PJs. When he emerged, he was wearing a one piece, blue, zip-up fleece pajama suit…complete with footeys. On the front, there was a picture of a yellow fish smiling and the writing under it said 'Catch of the Day.' Lambert figured since he was in the comfort of his own home and would not be seen in the public eye, it was okay to wear his nighties from his great, long dead, aunt Bernice.

He walked over to the now perfectly cooked chicken potpie, and placed it on a plate, hissing girlishly as it was hot to the touch and slightly scalded his palms. He then took the food and plopped down on his only, and horribly upholstered, recliner. Withdrawing a fork from who knows where, he then began to eat his feast.

So engaged was he with his eating, that he didn't notice the rather ominous signs of doom that were quickly filling the apartment. The slowly moving rocking chair, for instance, or the sly wind that howled and opened all of his sealed windows. Lambert was also oblivious to the newspaper headline on his table that read _'Angry, Bitter, and Interior-Design Inept Man Is Cruelly Forced To Accept the True Meaning of Christmas!'_. He didn't even notice the rather large neon-sign outside of his apartment that kept flashing 'DOOM!' in a variety of colors.

Lambert eyed something on his fork with suspicion, "Is this a piece of beef? In my _chicken _potpie! Oh the nerve!"

The signs of warning, however, were finally beginning to get ticked off that Lambert wasn't noticing them, so they decided the hell with it, and disappeared.

Lambert looked up from his meal for a mili-second, "Hey, there are no blatant signs of foreshadowing!" He paled, "Oh no, something must be dreadfully amiss."

Suddenly, Lambert heard a strange noise coming from down the hall. He turned quickly, but there was no one there. He sighed and began to eat the deliciously golden and flaky crust.

After a few moment, the noise returned, followed by a scraping sound. It dawned upon him that the noise sounded like chains or something of the nature dragging across the floor. He sighed and sat up slowly, pushing away his TV tray and lowering his head, so his ear was against the floor. Shaking his head, he then began to yell.

"HEY! YOU DAMN KIDS!" He hollered to the people who lived below him, "I'VE TOLD YOU THREE THOUSAND TIMES! IF YOU'RE GOING TO PERFORM FREAKISH CEREMONIES TO YOUR UNDEAD LORD **KEEP IT QUIET!**" He paused, recalling another time their damn cult rituals had kept him from his beloved potpie, "AND YOU BETTER NOT BE KILLING CATS LIKE LAST TIME!"

The chain noise stopped and he nodded contently, mumbling, "Goddamn kids. That'll show them." He then went back to his recliner and sat down.

Yet the noise returned, closer this time. Lambert pinched the bridge of his nose, sitting up straight, about to yell various threats and curses to those damn punks that lived below him. But he stopped, when he heard a ghostly voice.

"Laaaammmmmmm-"

Lambert stood up, fear filling him.

"-mmmmmmmmmm-"

He tensed, waiting for an attack.

"-bbbbbbbbbbb-"

His rigid defense mode began to slack off a bit.

"-eeeeeeeeeeeeee-"

He groaned and his posture became sloaching.

"-rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-"

He looked at his sundial, this was beginning to become ridiculous.

"-ttttttttttttttttttttt-"

He straightened, seeing that the ghostly voice had finally uttered his name, and was about to ask who it was when-

"-!-"

Lambert's face contorted in irritation, "Are you kidding me? That's just punctuation!" He slapped his hand against his face and said, with no enthusiasm or terror, "What do you want?"

A figure appeared, and Lambert recognized it as a pale man, draped in chains and looking quite dismal. The man pointed a ghastly finger at him and beckoned to Lambert slowly.

Lambert could feel the rage festering, "Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my apartment!"

The ghost inhaled, "Laaaa-"

Lambert held up a hand, "Don't even start with _that _again!" He squinted, "Get out of here now! I don't even _know _you!"

The ghost then stared at him in disbelief, "You don't know who I am?" It croaked.

"No."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Get the hell out."

The ghost shook its head, causing a rattling noise, "I'm Malcolm. You remember, Malcolm? Evil Lackey of the Atrox? Decomposing Regulator? Kinda scary? Oooo!" The ghost added for emphasis, doing a scary jig.

Lambert tapped a finger to his chin, "I can't say that I do."

"Are you sure?" The ghost asked, beginning to sound desperate.

"Pretty sure." He paused, "Wait a minute, were you a minor supporting character with no true development or purpose?"

Malcolm's face brightened, "Yes! That's me!"

"Oh. Ok then. I remember you." Lambert admitted, sitting back down in his chair and beginning to eat his potpie once again.

Malcolm stared at him incredulously, "That's it?" He queried.

"What's it?" Lambert replied dispassionately, eating a rather big carrot slice.

"I mean, you're just going to eat your potpie? You're not curious as to why a spectral form of a dead Regulator just showed up and is wearing all these chains?" Malcolm rattled a few of his ridiculous amounts of chains for good measure.

Lambert regarded him for a moment, "You're not here to collect my unpaid taxes, are you?"

"Uh, no."

"Or for some crackpot charity organization?"

"Nope."

"Then no, I don't care. Get the hell out."

"But I have an important message to tell you!" Malcolm pleaded.

Lambert rolled his eyes, "If you tell me your little 'message' will you _then _get the hell out?"

He nodded frantically, looking like a hyperactive puppy for a fraction of a second. A horribly disfigured puppy, but a puppy nonetheless. Lambert resisted the urge to kick him.

Lambert slumped into the back of his recliner and crossed his arms, "Then tell me the stupid message."

Malcolm broke into a huge smile and was about to go on a bout of girlish squeals, but restrained himself. He cleared his throat and did his most doom-implying voice, "Lambert Malmaris!" He cried hauntingly. "You are a terrible man undeserving of life!"

Lambert blinked and wiped his runny nose on the sleeve of his pajamas.

"You have kicked puppies, sprayed young children with garden hoses, and downloaded music illegally off of the internet! You also re-gift!" Accused the Malcolm ghost, "I was also once a re-gifter, and because of that I now wear these chains in the afterlife!"

Lambert rose an eyebrow skeptically, "Are you sure it wasn't because you were a hopeless, ruthless, killing machine who brutally butchered the innocent?"

Malcolm seemed to mull this over, but then he shook his head, "No, I wear these definitely because I was a re-gifter!"

Lambert gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like 'denial!'.

"_Anyways_," Malcolm said pointedly, "The Moon Goddess Selene has given you a chance to repent your evil ways of …um, evil, so you will not have to wear these chains I wear!"

Lambert snorted, "Now that's just silliness and tomfoolery!"

"But-!" Protested Malcolm.

"Tomfoolery!" Lambert repeated, "The fourth week of December is full of the stupid. And I'm not going to forsake my regifting ways. I mean, have you _seen_ some of the things I get? One year I got a teddy bear! With a bowtie! That's disgusting!"

Malcolm sighed, feeling very irritated, "We will see. Selene has sent three Spirits to visit you tonight-"

"Lemme guess. The Spirits of Christmas Past, Present, and Future." Lambert stated, rolling his eyes.

Malcolm looked quite shocked, "How did you know!"

"Puh-lease, like I'm the only one who's seen _A Muppet Christmas Carol._" He scoffed.

Malcolm then appeared slightly put-off, and the dramatic fervor he once held diminished slightly, "Whatever. Just remember to listen to what they have to say, otherwise you'll end up like me-"

"A sad, pathetic, excuse for a ghost?"

Malcolm's eyes narrowed, "No."

"Oh! An unnoticed and unwanted minor character?"

"A ghost in chains!" Malcolm growled, mumbling something to himself, "You know what? Fine! Whatever! I hope you asphyxiate yourself on holiday ribbon! You're a HUGE meanie-head!"

And with that, Malcolm vanished in a puff of diabolical smoke, with one last ominous message, "By the way, your pajamas look stupid!"

Lambert yet again rolled his eyes, returning the potpie, "Ghosts these days have become _so_ melodramatic." He said to himself.

Suddenly, the sundial somehow managed to chime, and Lambert looked at it, "Ah, it's three flickers passed the ninth dash, time for bed."

And with that, Lambert returned to his chambers, curling up next to his teddy bear with a bowtie and floating into a dreamless sleep.

**-o-o-o-**

Hope you guys are enjoying this! Reviews are always appreciated!

!nym!


	4. Herbert the ShinKicker's Keg Party

_Scrooge You._

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Harry Potter.

**Act Three: Herbert the Shin-Kicker's Holiday Keg Party**

Lambert rolled around his bed uncomfortably, unknowingly throttling the teddy bear as he unleashed his repressed homicidal tendencies in the midst of sleep. His eyes snapped open suddenly, as he was in a cold sweat. Something was amiss; he could feel it in his bowels.

He sat up, and a rumbling in his stomach agreed that there was definitely something amiss in his bowels. "Uh…." He groaned, realizing that perhaps the chicken potpie was not quite cooked all the way, and because of that he now had….

Well, he had gas. Pretty bad.

Fanning his nose with his hand, he slowly made his way to the bathroom.

As this fiction is currently at a K+ rating, I shall not describe in detail what exactly occurred in the bathroom, but let's just say, when he left it, he was feeling mighty pleased with himself and about ten pounds lighter.

Lambert flushed the toilet and proceeded to his chambers.

Lambert failed to realize that there was another occupant of the bed, instead plopping down unceremoniously and beginning to fall asleep, his teddy bear entrenched under his arm. However, Lambert quickly felt a tapping on his shoulder, his eyes widened and his grip on the teddy bear tightened.

"Morning sleepy head!" Came a rather pleased voice.

Lambert jumped straight up in the air, which was unfortunate, as he had a canopy bed and banged his head against a wooden frame. "Who're you!" He demanded.

He looked to find a figure sprawled out on his bed, covered in a white sheet that had eyeholes cut out and said 'Ghost' in scrawled magic marker. The figure stood up slowly.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past!" It stated in a fake tenor voice.

Lambert squinted at it, and realized that the 'Ghost' was wearing cheetah-patterned capris pants under the sheet, "No you're not!"

The ghost put its hands on its hips, "I am too!" It protested.

Lambert snorted, "You are not! Only one person in the entire book series wears animal prints! And that's Serena!"

The 'ghost' smacked a hand against its forehead, "Damn! My cover is blown by the animal prints!" It stated, pulling off the sheet to show that it was, in fact, Serena. "But I really am serving as the Ghost of Christmas Past!" She whined, "Selene asked me too!"

Lambert rolled his eyes, "Yeah right, prove it!" He demanded.

Serena smiled, "Last year you gave all of your co-workers gift cards to Hobby Lobby."

"That doesn't prove anything! Everyone knows I give terrible gift cards!"

"You told a kindergarten class that there was no such thing as Santa, and then ruined the ending to the latest Harry Potter book. Just to be a jerk." Serena continued.

Lambert gave a chuckle at remembering the children's faces when he had told them that SPOILER! dies at the end of _The Half Blood Prince_. But he quickly recovered, "That's still not enough to convince me to go with you."

Serena tapped the side of her head, trying to think of something to convince him that she was the real deal, "Oh! I got it! You didn't wash your hands after you just used the bathroom!"

There was a silence.

"Alright, fine! Where are we going?" Lambert huffed, upset at having been thwarted yet again.

"To the past, duh."

Lambert scratched his head, "Wait a minute, why are you the Ghost of Christmas Past when Catty is the Daughter with the ability to time travel?"

Serena's eyes shifted around nervously, "Uh, disregard the plot holes!" She cried in her best ghost voice. Serena then looked at her watch, which she had because she was neither poor nor cheap, "Oh my! It's already almost one and we haven't even started yet!" She stretched out her hand, "Here grab my hand and let's get a move on!" She paused as she remembered that Lambert didn't believe in washing his hands after he used the bathroom, "On second thought, why don't you just follow closely?" Her eyes narrowed, "But not _too_ closely."

"Whatever." He muttered, walking behind her.

Serena snorted, "By the way, nice pajamas!"

Just as Lambert was about to retort, the two were swept away into another scene.

OoOoOoOo

Lambert looked around at his latest surroundings. There was a shack comprised of ramshackle plywood, children running around in Black Cloaks Of Doom, and a huge, intimidating sign that stated 'Skewl of Eeville!'. Several dead woodland creatures lay on the path that went to the shack.

His eyes widened, "My god! We've entered my childhood! This is where I went to school!"

Serena grimaced as she saw a dead raccoon, "Uh, yes, lovely." She muttered.

Lambert's face fell when he saw a short, stocky boy in a Black Cloak of Doom run passed them, "Hey, that's Marty! That jerk owes me money!" Lambert pulled up his sleeve and chased after the child, attempting to tackle him to the ground, but falling straight through him, "What the blazes? Why isn't he eating dirt?" He asked his guide.

"The people here can not see or hear you," She said absently, picking at her nails, "For their own safety." She muttered to herself.

All the little hellions were currently heading towards a somewhat clubhouse, which was omitting bright lights and happy music.

"What's going on?" Serena asked.

Cheesy flashback music cued as Lambert stared longingly at the clubhouse, "That's Herbert the Shin-kicker's annual Holiday Keg Party."

Serena's eyes widened in amazement, "You had Keg Parties at twelve years old!"

Lambert puffed out his chest, "We were bad asses!" He said proudly, then his chest deflated, "I was never invited to the Keggers."

"Hm," Serena said knowingly, "Well, not everyone's at Herbert's Keg Party, there's a little, neglected, smelly, isolated, loser in the school still. Let's go poke at him!"

Lambert's mood lifted considerably at the opportunity to go pick on some little dorky outcast, "Ooo! Let's!" He declared, as the two made their way to the school.

After they found some lonely little boy and considerably humiliated him for not being cool, Serena turned to Lambert, "Hey, where are you as a kid?"

Lambert felt himself go into shame mode, "Uh, I don't remember."

Serena looked at him in disbelief, "Oh sure you do!"

Lambert exhaled slowly, "Fine, I was in the Home Ec. room."

Serena stifled a few chortles with her hands, "Dork." She said.

Lambert sent her a cross look and folded his arms in front, "I was learning my trade!"

Serena just shook her head and headed towards the Home Ec room, where sure enough, there was a younger version of Lambert sitting at a desk with an embroidery hoop. "That's you?" She asked.

Lambert nodded proudly, "Sure is, wasn't I a dashing little schoolboy?"

Serena looked at the boy, who had dandruff, greasy hair, a severe acne problem, and a rather noticeable body odor. His face was twisted up as if he were constipated, "Um, sure, quite, uh, dashing."

Suddenly, another boy entered the room, also wearing a Black Cloak of Doom.

"Who's that?" Asked Serena.

Lambert seemed deep in thought, "Oh yes, that was my dear friend, Catty's Dad." He stated.

The boy took a seat next to young Lambert, "Hey Lambey, are you going with me to Herbert the Shin-Kicker's Holiday Keg Party?"

Young Lambert snorted, "As if. Last time I went over there, they threw rocks at me and burned my embroidery hoop!" To strengthen his point; he lifted the now charred embroidery hoop to Catty's Dad's eye level.

Catty's Dad sighed, "That's only because you said Herbert's momma was so fat she saw a school bus and yelled 'Follow that twinkie!'."

Lambert the older laughed, "That was a good one!"

"So!" Young Lambert protested, "He said that my landscape painting in art class looked like a _crap_scape!"

Catty's Dad groaned, "But think about it Lambert! All the free beer! We could get drunk and have a blast playing pin the tail on the donkey!"

"How much free beer?" The younger Lambert asked.

"Tons! Enough to even get _me _smashed!"

Younger Lambert sighed and reluctantly set down his embroidery hoop, "All right, but just for a little bit."

Catty's Dad withdrew a funnel hat from his Black Cloak of Doom and the two went off into the distance.

Serena had watched the scene in mild horror, "Had a bit of an alcohol problem, didn't he?"

Lambert nodded somberly, still sore at the memories of the stinging _crap_scape comment, "So he had, I'll not deny it."

"He died a young man, didn't he?" She asked, cheesy sad moment music beginning to cue.

Lambert scratched his chin, "Actually, I don't think he's dead."

"Oh." Serena said, slightly bummed that her huge dramatic moment had been ruined, "Well, he had, I believe, children?" She said, trying yet again to opt for a dramatic moment.

Lambert began to wonder if she was a few sticks short of a bundle, "Yes, Catty." Under his breath he muttered, "Stupid little brat, that Catty."

Serena smacked her hand against her face, all chances for a redeeming moment of humanity ruined, "You know what, let's just go to a different Christmas."

"But I want to go to the Keg Party-" He pouted.

Lambert's protests were yet again cut short as they were transported into another scene.


	5. Why Does the Atrox Have a Lisp?

_Scrooge You._

**AN: **Man, I'm on a roll! This story is like totally MEGA FUN to write! I changed the DOTM cannon a scotch. Just a scotch mind you!

_Disclaimer: _I do not own the Electric Slide. Damn!

**Act Four: Why Does the Atrox Have a Lisp?**

Lambert began to see tiny spots dance across his eyes as he realized that conniving girl had yet again shifted him to a different time instead of hearing him talk. He silently vowed that she would be the next one to be transported to an infernal netherworld via lightening bolt of doom.

"Here we are!" Serena exclaimed excitedly.

Lambert looked around, they apparently were in some type of cave, a gloomy, desolate place, "Where are we?"

"Your old internship!" Serena exclaimed, still rather excitedly.

Lambert scratched his head, "Why are you so perky about everything?"

She shrugged, a vaguely psychotic smile plastered on her face.

Lambert yet again looked around, and noticed a tiny engraving in the rock that stated 'LAMBERT IZ TEH R0X0R!one!' "Ah yes," He stated, "I remember this place well."

Just then, a group of three approached the area, all clad in Black Cloaks of Doom. Lambert noticed that two of them had brooms in hand. "Hey!" He cried, suddenly recalling this Christmas, "That's Zahi! The boy I used to work with!" He stated, pointing to the less greasy boy, "And that's Mr. Atrox, my old boss!"

Serena squinted at the so-called Mr. Atrox. "Are you sure?" She asked.

Lambert nodded knowingly, "Yes! That's him! I recognize the hat!"

Sure enough, Mr. Atrox was wearing a rather large Santa Hat with green bells sewn on it. He wore a decorative sweater vest that depicted a train of reindeer whom were all smiling and a hand-knit scarf with a rather jolly Santa.

"Somehow, I always pictured the Atrox's human form to be more…um…diabolical," Serena mused.

"What are you talking about?" Lambert argued, "That sweater vest has been known to make people scream and personally wet themselves!"

"Uh-huh," Serena said, obviously not buying it.

"Okay people!" The Atrox stated, clapping his hands, "I want everyone to make this place spick and span for the Christmas Party! We can't afford our company friends to dance on a dirty stone floor, now can we? I didn't think so-oh!"

"I am on zit vight avay!" Stated Zahi, sweeping like a madman.

Serena scratched her head, "Why does the Atrox have a lisp? And since when was Zahi's accent typed?" She then muttered, "Albeit poorly."

Lambert put a finger to his lips, "Shhh!"

Serena clenched her jaw and muttered something unintelligible under her breath.

"Sir, I don't want to sweep!" Pouted Angst!Teen!Lambert, "What difference does it make, we are in an underground enclave, that is, in a sense, made of dirt!"

The Atrox proceeded to roll up his sleeve and then slap him against the face, "Now that sounds like a party-pooper attitude!" He stated, "And I will have none of that, Lambert you need to learn to turn that frown upside down, or I will be forced to slap you again!"

Angst!Teen!Lambert immediately turned his frown upside down, wincing as the red handprint hurt more with an upside down frown than a regular frown.

"Gorgeous!" The Atrox squealed, he then turned to Zahi, "Have you finished devilling the devilled eggs?"

Zahi immediately stopped sweeping and stood up straight like a marine would, "Mais oui, Monsieur!"

"Kiss ass," Muttered olderLambert under his breath.

"Wonderful!" The Atrox sighed, "Oh this is going to be the best Christmas party ever!" He looked and noticed that Angst!Teen!Lambert was once again sulking in a dark corner, "Lambert, why aren't you wearing the hat and shoes I made you all?"

Angst!Teen!Lambert muttered something that sounded like, "Tacky," and then said more clearly, "I think I lost them."

"Neverre fear, mon ami, I 'ave a spare set!" Announced Zahi, producing a humiliating pair of elf slippers and a fuzzy hat from under his Black Cloak of Doom.

Angst!Teen!Lambert's face paled and he begrudgedly took the articles of clothing and put them on, looking like a very unhappy camper indeed.

"Aw," Said the Atrox, pinching Angst!Teen!Lambert's cheeks, "Don't you look precious!"

That was the moment Lambert first planned to betray the Atrox.

Serena looked at the older Lambert and began to snicker, "I think I've misjudged the Atrox. He's not all that bad if he wears Christmas vests and makes you wear elf slippers." She stated.

Lambert pointed a finger at her, "You shall never speak of this!"

Serena was about the respond, when the doors to the enclave suddenly bust open. The Atrox then began to prance like a ninny, "Oh the guests are here! The guests are here!"

Sure enough, a train of about forty or fifty people entered, all dressed in ridiculous amounts of holiday cheer. At the head of the procession was a woman Serena recognized.

"Hey! That's Aura!" She proclaimed.

Lambert tugged at his collar, "Heh."

The Atrox then grabbed at Angst!Teen!Lambert's hand, "Come on! There's someone I'd like you to like totally meet!"

Angst!Teen!Lambert sent a pleading glance to no one in particular as he was carted away.

The Atrox brought him right up to Aura, "Honey sugar cookie," He cooed at her, "This is my least hard-working and most susceptible to betrayal employee Lambert!" He then gestured to Aura, "This is my wife Ursula. I really have no idea why I'm introducing you, but what the hey!" With this, he looked up, "Oh my gosh! You'll never guess who just walked in! It's that Countess and that makeup makes her look like a total skank! I just _have _to talk to her!" He pushed the two of them together, "Oh well, make with the happy!" He said before prancing off to talk to the Countess that looked like a total skank.

Aura, or Ursula batted her eyelashes, "Hi, I'm a woman who's trapped in an arranged marriage with a man she hates and will probably leap at the first guy who makes a pass at her."

Angst!Teen!Lambert nodded, "I'm an angry, angstful teen who hates his boss, simultaneously your husband that you hate, and will do anything to piss him off." He paused, "I also hate Christmas. A lot. All the time."

Ursula seemed to evaluate him for a moment, "Want to dance?"

Angst!Teen!Lambert shrugged, "Yeah, ok."

Serena looked at Lambert strangely, "That's the most informing introduction I've ever heard."

Lambert shrugged, "I liked to brood in my teen years."

Lambert and Serena watched the pair dance, and Lambert began to realize that he was quite possibly the most uncoordinated person on the planet. Serena then noticed how the happy atmosphere was beginning to make Lambert a lot less surly then normal, and decided to yet again attempt another go at the whole redeeming moment of humanity.

"Doesn't this make you think of your own employee?" She prodded, the cheesy music returning.

Lambert seemed to mull this over, "No, not really. Stanton's a bigger pain in the tookus than I could ever hope to be…" He trailed off, thinking, "Unless…" He stared at her, "Serena!"

She felt hopeful for a moment, thinking he had decided to throw a Christmas party of some sort for his workers, "Yes?"

"I should totally make Stanton wear an elf suit to work!"

Serena groaned and threw her arms up in the air, "So close! I was _so _close this time!" She yelled. Then she grabbed Lambert by the arm; still carefully avoiding his unwashed hands, "Let's go to another Christmas."

"But they're about to play the Electric Slide-" Lambert argued before they where wisked away.


	6. Aura's Melodrama is Effectively Ruined

_Scrooge You._

**AN: **I had chocolate milk today. Which is really weird, because I _hate _chocolate milk with a passion. It's yucky to the EXTREME. But for some reason, it tasted really good. Maybe because it was Ovaltine instead of Hershey's syrup? Hm…I'll have to ponder that. Oh, yeah, none of that had anything to do with the story. I just felt like bringing it up. Cuz it was weird. Really weird.

Haha, this might be off a bit but… :clears throat, It's just a jump to the left, and then a step to the right. Put your hands on your hips, and bend your knees in tight. But it's the pelvic thrust that drives them insane; let's do the time warp again! Disco-Dancing, you are my hero.

**Act Five: Aura's Melodrama is Effectively Ruined.**

Lambert quickly surveyed his new surroundings, starting to get used to the constant interruptions that the continuous scene-shifting provided. Although he really wished that they had stayed for the Electric Slide, it was one of his favorites.

They were at an office of some kind, and a younger Lambert sat hunched over a computer, frantically clicking away at links. There was only one desk, and on that desk there were copious amounts of fabric and thread arranged neatly and color-coordinated.

"Do you remember this Christmas?" Serena asked him, inwardly laughing manically. Serena had chosen the most sappiest, heart-wrenchingest Christmas for last, trying to get him to have that damn moment of humanity she had been striving for throughout the last few chapters. This was the crème de la crème of horrible Christmases, this one would surely stir up hurtful memories and make Lambert see the error of his ways, oh yes, this one was _gold._

"Nope, can't say that I do." Lambert said, shrugging.

Damn!

Suddenly, the door to the office opened, and in walked Ursula, burdened with piles and piles of flower-patterned fabric. She inched over to the desk clumsily, desperately trying not to drop any of the cloth. She dumped the flower cloth on top of the rest of younger Lambert's carefully categorized things, heaving slightly as she slumped against the desk.

Younger Lambert turned around in his wheeley chair, "Um, honey, you know, you really shouldn't put _un_sorted fabric on top of the sorted fabric."

Ursula looked at him in amazement, "But, you told me to bring this fabric up the twenty flights of stairs, down the hall, to the left, to the right, to the slightly off-right, and then up an additional five flights of stairs to your office to place on this table here!" She said, gesturing grandly to the table of sorted fabric.

Younger Lambert pinched the bridge of his nose, "Hun, you're pretty, but not too bright-"

Ursula's face became very hostile looking.

"-why would I have the _un_sorted fabric go on the table with the sorted fabric? That's just lunacy."

Ursula grit her teeth, and pointed to the table, "But you clearly said you wanted the fabric on _this _table, you wrote me an e-mail with a detailed map!" She protested.

Younger Lambert stared at her for a moment, then at the table, then back to her. Suddenly, he smacked his hand against his forehead, "Of course!" He stated, "I forgot that I had changed the tables in a gesture of cruel irony before you came up here." He let out a chuckle, "The table for the _un_sorted fabric is now moved downstairs, where you first got the fabric. You wouldn't mind bringing it back down, would you hun? Great!" He said, returning to writing his fanfiction.

Ursula stared at him incredulously, "You sonofa-"

"Oh!" Younger Lambert stated, "I'm kind of hungry, could you make me a chicken potpie?" He asked, "Great!" He chirped.

Ursula was livid with pure, festering rage, "You get your own goddamn potpie!" She cried.

Younger Lambert's mouth fell open, "Well there's no need to get sassy-"

"Sassy? SASSY!" She proclaimed throwing her arms up in the air, "You make me do all the work around here! I'm always sorting things, re-sorting things, and then sorting things again for good measure-"

"You can't be too careful with color coordination-" Younger Lambert started.

"-While _you _sit around here doing nothing but filling out internet surveys and writing _stupid _fanfictions!" She shrilled.

Younger Lambert grasped his chest, "They are _not _stupid!"

"Yes they are! Stupid! Stupidstupidstupid! STUPID!"

"I'll have you know that I'm currently writing a slash fic for Harry Potter!" Younger Lambert countered, "That makes it _edgy_, not _stupid_!"

Ursula started tugging her hair out by its roots, "Look, Lambert, I'm tired of putting up with your crap! You've become addicted to the computer ever since we got rid of DSL and switched to wireless-"

"Well you must admit that it's much more convenient-" He protested.

"And _I'm _the one constantly sorting the _un_sorted fabric!" She finished, throwing her arms up in the air. "Now you've got a choice, Lambert. It's either Fanfiction and internet surveys, or me." She stated, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Younger Lambert looked at her, then at the computer with its taunting Draco/Harry slash fic, then back to her. There was a soul-crushing silence as younger Lambert reflected on one of the most important decisions of his life.

Ursula simply stood there, waiting.

Younger Lambert cleared his throat, "Now, about that potpie…" He started.

Ursula made an indistinguishable noise that sounded like a train, and knocked over all the assorted fabrics, "You can take your damn potpie and shove it up your-"

Younger Lambert's eyes widened.

"I'm out of here! I _so _should have listened to my mother and not married evil incarnate, then eloped with a _lamer_ evil incarnate!" She huffed, storming out of the room.

Serena watched the display silently, staring at Ursula as she strode out of the room, and younger Lambert made no move whatsoever to go after her. Her eyes went over to the olderLambert to see him crying.

"Lambert?" She asked, "I know this was really hard to watch, but are you alright?"

The older Lambert wiped his tears on his footy pajamas, "I just wish…"

"Yes?" Serena prodded gently, still hoping for that redeeming moment of humanity.

"I just wish…"

"Yes?"

"I just wish she would have gotten the potpie." He stated.

Serena stared at him, dumbfounded. "That's what you're so worked up about?" She demanded crossly.

He nodded, "It was such a simple request! I mean, they're microwaveable now, it would have only taken her an estimated 3-5 minutes to heat one up-"

"You are a heartless bastard!" Serena screamed, "I've been breaking my back trying to get you to have a moment of redemption and you're SCREWING IT UP!" She hissed.

Lambert waved away her complaints dismissively, "I get it, I get it. I'll give you one of my chicken potpies when we get home."

"THIS ISN'T ABOUT THE POTPIES!" She bellowed, "Oh, that's so it! I'm done with this past Christmas crap, the other Daughters can deal with you." She cried, her dreams crushed.

"Okay, maybe a beef potpie for you-" Lambert started before an all-encompassing light shrouded them.


	7. The Phantasm Loosens Up Her Buttons

_Scrooge You._

_AN: _I updated! It's a Christmas miracle!

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Ci-Ci and the Music Factory's "Everybody Dance Now". Though I wish I did. God damn it, I wish I did. I also don't own that one song by that one group that dances a lot.

**Act Six: The Phantasm Loosens Up Her Buttons**

When Lambert woke up, his face was mashed against a drool-spotted pillow and his arm was clenching onto his teddy bear. Slowly, his eyes opened a few times, a look of perpetual 'WTF'-ness clinging on his face. He realized that he had a pounding headache, as the throb echoed inside his skull.

"No more animal prints," He muttered stupidly, slowly sitting up. "Urh…" The pounding in his head wouldn't stop!

Bump

Ba-Bum Ba-bum

Bum.

Doo do do dut.

Doo do do dut dut dut du dut

His eyes widened upon the dawning that he was not able to have his head throb in a groovy mid-nineties dance beat.

"_Everybody…"_

Lambert slowly stood up from his bed and headed towards the source of the commotion, apparently his living room.

"_Everybody dance now!"_

His footed pajamas stepped soundlessly against the ground, and by the time Lambert reached his destination, his jaw dropped straight to the floor.

There was a very loud, and very blonde, Daughter of the Moon dancing in a Santa hat and lipsynching to an old dance hall hit.

"_Doo do do, doo do do dut dut dut du dut du dut dut du du! Come on let's sweat, baby! Let the music take control!"_

Upon closer evaluation, Lambert realized his entire apartment had been redecorated. There was tinsel hanging all over the torture machines, a bright red bow on his Black Cloak of Doom, and worst of all a HUGE Christmas tree with a disco ball perched on top of it.

Now, Lambert was a tolerant man. Well, maybe not so much as tolerant as barely passable at basic understanding for human beings, but when he gets woken up, to off-key singing, to see his ENTIRE LAIR festooned in holiday cheer, well TOO MUCH WAS TOO MUCH.

"WHAT THE HIZZLE?!" He cried sharply, his voice acquiring a higher pitch at his righteous shriek of indignation.

The blonde Daughter of the Moon, whose name wasn't really important because in all honesty, what did she actually _do, _turned around. "Hi there grumpy butt!" She chirped, doing a tinkly wave in his direction.

"My apartment!" He declared nastily, "What did you do, you worthless female?"

The blonde pouted slightly, "Well, that wasn't very nice." Her smile immediately returned, "I'm sharing the spirit of Christmas!"

His left eye began to twitch rapidly, "Sharing…the spirit…of Christ-" He yet again almost mouth-vomited, "The Fourth Week of December?"

"Yep!" She said, nodding and completely oblivious to the homicidal rage acquiring within Lambert.

"I! You! Fiend!" He choked out, unable to form coherent sentences, "I AM GOING TO **DECK **YOUR HALLS!" He cried, launching himself at her, fingers flexed for strangulation.

"That doesn't make sense!" The blonde protested, now vaguely alarmed as she quickly stepped to the side.

Lambert, the only person in the history of the world to get a D+ in elementary gym class, charged straight into his Christmas tree. "Arg! Thwarted!"

She simply scratched her head, "Um, so, like yeah." She cleverly articulated, "Are you Lambert, vaguely fearsome lord of the underworld?"

He turned around, his wrath being subjected upon the poor Christmas ornaments shaped like smiling children as he tore them apart, "What do you mean? You don't remember me?"

She shrugged, "Well, in all honestly, what do you actually _do?_"

Lambert paused, not quite sure how to answer this. "I…plot…things." He paused, "**Evil **things."

There was an awkward pause, which Lambert broke by shattering an ornament using his thumb and index finger.

"Ok, then," She cleared her throat, "How about an introduction? I'm Vanessa, total hottie with good grades, and I will be serving as your Phantasm of Christmas Present!" At this, she pulled a chord and a banner fell from the ceiling, 'Vanessa Brings Christmas Love!' scribbled on it in gel pen and sparklies.

He blinked slowly, "Phantasm? Don't you mean Ghost?"

She made a 'face', "Ew, no. Phantasm sounds way cooler than Ghost. It has a fantastic pizzazz, don't you think?"

Lambert wasn't quite sure what the word 'pizzazz' meant, assuming it had nothing to do with pizza, so he just nodded his head dumbly.

"Anyways, ready to go accept cheer and warmth into your heart by seeing how you screw everyone else over?" She asked peppily.

"Will you leave me alone afterwards?" He said, glaring and crossing his arms over his chest.

"I kind of have to, I have a date with _dreamy _Michael in about an hour." Vanessa replied.

"You don't really dedicate yourself to a job, do you?"

"It's actually kind of like a community service type of gig."

"Ah, I see." He sighed, himself not being a fan of community service, "Let's just get this over with." He groaned, "I'll be with you in a moment, just let me incinerate the tinsel."

Vanessa pouted yet again, "Spoilsport." A pause, "At least keep the bow on your dress thing."

"It's NOT a dress and I will most certainly NOT keep the bow." He shot back quickly.

"Why not?" A devilish smirk crawled on her face, "A man secure enough in his masculinity would wear the bow-"

"Well I'm not!" He yelled suddenly, making the situation just _that _much more awkward. He became very aware that he was still wearing the footey pajamas.

"Um, I'm gonna go take down the banner," Vanessa trailed off.

"And I have a thing," Lambert responded quickly, ripping apart the tinsel with added vigor.

OoO

Ten minutes later, the two were on the go, walking towards a destitute neighborhood. Homeless people looked unhappy, children shivered in streets, people were eating out of dumpsters, a drunk guy was peeing on a mailbox…

Lambert twitched, "Why are we here? Poor people give me hives. They're…unseemly."

Vanessa nodded somberly in agreement, "I know! But, this is where your lame employee works, so it's our first stop."

Lambert's face twisted, "Uh, not _Stanton_, I hate that guy!" He spat.

"Me too!" Vanessa proclaimed, turning to Lambert, "Wow, who would've thought we'd have so much in common!"

Lambert clenched his jaw and desperately avoided having to think about how much he had in common with The Blonde One.

The two approached a grand dump of an apartment, a malodorous stink filtering through the air, that smelled like a mixture of broken dreams and stale cheetos, "Here you go," Vanessa said, gesturing to the door but not moving.

His eyebrows shot up, "You're not going in with me?"

"No way! It's dirty!" She proclaimed, fishing out earphones for her Ipod inside of her jacket, "Besides, _I'm _not the holiday hate-monger."

He just slowly shook his head, amazed, "You're so _evil_, you would make a terrific Follower!"

She smirked smugly, "Don't I know it!" Suddenly her head started to bob as music filtered in, _"Loosen up my buttons bay-bay, but you keep frontin' me, saying what you gonna do to me, but I see nuffin'-"_

Lambert sighed and carefully pushed open the door, hoping he was brave enough for the evils he was about to face…

**TO BE CONTINUED!**

Not very funny, I know, but this was a bridge to the next chapter which has, yes, Tiny Tymmie. I'm sorry for taking so long in updating, but the next part should come easier as I HAVE FOUND THE PLAY!

Next Up: "God Bless Us, Everyone!" "…Tymmie's high again, isn't he?"

!nym!


	8. Murray Sucks

_Scrooge You _

_AN: _I do not own Transformers, the Barbie sisters Kelly and Skipper, Norman Rockwell, Shasta, Campbells soup, or Hello Kitty!. Trust me, if I did, well…that'd be awfully convenient I guess.

Hope you enjoy the Super!Long!Cool!Awesome! Chapter!

**Act Seven: Murray Sucks.**

Lambert carefully tread inside of the dilapidated doorway, his hands poised and ready to throw infernal lightning bolts of doom at whoever crossed his way. He cursed himself repeatedly for forgetting his 'Poor People' decontaminant spray at home. As soon as he entered, his jaw dropped straight to the floor.

"My lord, a one room house!" He stated, for it was true. Everyone who you'd think would be there were all in that one room. Just hanging out…or something.

He recognized Stanton's worthless underlings immediately. The evil version of The Blonde One, he thought her name was Skipper or something, was huddling in the fetal position, cowering under a Transformers™ sleeping bag that seemed to use those plastic-soda-ring-things-that-kill-dolphins for insulation. Beside her, was the one that looked an _awful _lot like that dashing young rebel in _Grease_, wearing a five year old's pink Hello Kitty! shirt that rode above his bellybutton and making Christm…fourth week of December decorative chains out of the same plastic-soda-ring-things-that-kill dolphins. Lambert had to hand it to them, they were terribly resourceful youngsters. And they were helping the environment!

Then Lambert remembered that he _hated _the environment. He vowed to buy ten packs of Shasta grape soda and _not _cut up the plastic-soda-ring-things-that-kill-dolphins before he _littered._

His eyes drifted to the corner of the room, where he recognized Karyl, shivering in the darkness and maliciously popping some bubble wrap.

"_Cassandra,_" He whined, "I'm…so…hungry."

A door burst open, which Lambert thought was odd considering it was a one room house, and the maroon haired vixen charged in, a soup ladle in her hand, "Shut the hell up Karyl and quit your bitching!" She said, whapping said Follower on the head with the metal kitchen utensil.

Murray, looked up, his eyes filling with tears because Cassandra had said bad words, and Murray was _not _cool with that, "Cassandra, it's Christmas!" He protested, jingling the sea-creature murdering décor in his hand.

"It's Christmas _Eve, _dumbass," Cassandra retorted, placing her hands akimbo on her hips.

Murray's lower lip quivered, and his head hung low, "You need Jesus in your life, Cassandra."

Cassandra stared at the greaser for about five full seconds, before hitting him on the head too.

Skipper's head peeked out from Optimus Prime's almighty cover, "When's the food going to get here?" She questioned pathetically, sniffling some, "It's so cold and dark where I am." She added, for good measure.

The maroon-haired Follower sighed, "I don't know, Stanton and Tymmie said they were going to steal some Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup from the orphanage and homeless shelter."

"I hate chicken noodle!" Protested Karyl, angrily throwing his bubble wrap down on the ground with righteous outrage. It made a nice 'pop!' sound.

Cassandra glared at him, and slammed the soup ladle against her palm in a threatening manner, "You will eat the chicken noodle soup and you will _like _it." She hissed between clenched teeth.

Karyl made a whimpering noise and returned his focus to the non-head bruising bubble wrap.

Cassandra rolled her eyes and looked skyward in a 'Why me?' gesture, before turning towards Skipper, "Kelly, can you go outside and get some snow that's not oddly colored to use for drinking water?" Cassandra looked sorrowfully out into the distance, "Because we're too poor to afford the water bill and our tap comes out brown. Most likely due to the fact that Stanton works such _long, **cruel **_hours at Lambert's quilting shop…even though that doesn't make much sense seeing as he's the only one making a paycheck."

"'Kay," She answered dully. Feebly, Skipper crawled out from the sleeping bag, "Did the drunk guy who pees on mailboxes leave yet?" She questioned.

"I think so, it's odd that he always feels the need to piss on government property _every _Christmas Eve," She responded.

Skipper nodded, "It's like clockwork."

The girl walked towards Lambert, who made sure to edge away from her quickly. Not because she might bump into him, since that would be impossible, but because she had a funky odor hanging around her and Lambert _really _liked his blue onesie, although he'd never admit it. Plus, the smell was likely to cling to fabric and paying for dry cleaning was terribly expensive.

Murray had made his way over to Karyl, "Hey Karyl, want to play some Christmas games and bask in the heavenly glow of good tidings and friendship?"

Karyl didn't even bother to look up from his vicious popping, "Get bent, lameass." He then added snidely, "You don't have any friends."

"It's true," Cassandra added from over her shoulder, as she tore up some U-Haul boxes to make plates.

Murray's head lowered again and he started to sing sadly, as he was terribly alone and thought the magic of Christmas would bring new life to his spirit, "We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas-"

"Ugh, _shut up _Murray," Cassandra yelled angrily, giving Karyl the signal.

Quickly, Karyl stood up and gave Murray a Wet Willy.

"Ew! Ew! GROSS!" He cried, squirming, but it was to no avail.

Lambert watched this bizarre scene and scratched his head, wondering just what exactly he was supposed to be getting out of this.

Just then, the door flew open, revealing Skipper with two handfuls of snow, despite it being Los Angeles with average temperatures of about seventy degrees, "Stanton and Tymmie are coming!" She said, then dropped her voice to a whisper, "And I _think _they're wasted!"

Cassandra face-palmed herself, "Not this year too!"

Down the alleyway, Lambert could hear some tone deaf caroling going on, "Jingle bells, jingle bells, Batman smells, something, something, Robin laid a freaking egg! Batmobile!"

"Oh no," muttered Karyl, ceasing his ear-slobbering of Murray, whose Christmas spirit still persevered!

"Get the kit," Cassandra said flatly, rolling up her sleeves.

Skipper ran to a room that didn't exist because it was only a one room house, and returned with a baseball bat.

Stanton and Tymmie entered the glorified shack, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders as they drunkenly indulged themselves in good cheer, "Hey kids!" Stanton cried, swaying on his feet.

Lambert grimaced. He still _hated _that guy.

"Did you idiots remember to steal from starving children?" Cassandra commanded.

Tymmie smiled, "We went to church!" He stated.

Murray's eyes brightened, perhaps things were _finally _going his way! It turns out there was good in everyone-

"And drank all the communion wine!" Chirped Stanton.

Murray really needed to stop believing in people.

"What about dinner?" Karyl demanded.

"We dressed Tymmie up as a crippled child, and some strange man in a trench coat who kept calling him 'tiny' gave him food!" He said.

Tymmie pulled open his coat, "Look! Candy!" He proclaimed.

Sure enough, about four pounds of sweets, none of which could possibly be tampered with or drugged, spilled out onto the table. The group of dirty Followers leaned around the loot.

"God bless you, Tiny Tymmie," Stanton slurred, picking up a slightly glowing tootsie roll and popping it in his mouth.

Tiny Tymmie laughed maniacally and threw his head back, "God bless us, everyone!" He cheered before attacking some pixie sticks.

The four sober Followers gaped.

"Should we…let them keep eating it?" Skipper asked, slightly wary and taking a few practice swings with her baseball bat.

"They seem to be having a good time…" Trailed off Karyl, as Stanton shoved two jelly beans up 'Tiny' Tymmie's nose.

"I don't know, what do you think-" Cassandra's head turned and looked at Murray.

Murray beamed. They were _finally _paying attention to him! They wanted his opinion, Murray was someone special and loved-

"Karyl?" The older girl asked, swerving back around.

Murray should have learned his lesson by now.

"Well, shit. I'm hungry, and doped up sugar beats Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup any day," Karyl said, grabbing a handful of toffee that appeared to have bits of syringes stuck in it.

The two females shrugged and joined in, while Murray started to write the first draft of some angsty poetry.

Lambert watched this scene in a mixture between amazement and shock, thinking something definitely wasn't right with this. Quickly, he punched a hole through the Followers' house, sticking his head out. This went unheeded by the Followers, as they were getting crazy off of child predator-tampered candy.

"Blonde One! Blonde One!" He cried, as Vanessa was still rocking out to that one band with the uber sweet dance moves.

Vanessa stopped her dance funk when she thought she heard the desperate cry of a prepubescent child, "Oh no! Some innocent little girl's in danger-"

"Blonde One!" Lambert said louder.

Vanessa turned and stared at the forty-something man who was shrilling like a five year old girl. With pigtails. "Ugh, what now?" She snapped.

"Take a look at this!" He said, grabbing her arm and pulling her inside through the hole he had taken out of the impoverished Followers' only shelter against the bitter cold of a seventy degree night.

Vanessa watched the scene with wide eyes, as she, a teenager in an inner-city high school, had never seen mind-altering substances used before in her life.

"Ghost-" At seeing the nasty look she shot him, he sighed, "_Phantasm, _are these kids going to live?"

The Phantasm of Christmas Present evaluated him, touched that he seemed so concerned, "Why do you ask?"

"I'll probably get sued if they died!" Lambert explained, before shaking his fist at the sky, "Damn labor unions and their needs for proper and legal working conditions!" His face turned into a fierce growl, "CURSE YOU WORKER'S COMP!"

Vanessa scratched her head, pretty sure that worker's comp only applied when someone died on the job, but decided to ignore this fact and mess with Lambert's head for the hell of it, "I see a rusted soup ladle and some unpopped bubble wrap in the corner, if these idiotic Followers keep ingesting candy from strangers, they will all surely die."

"NO!" Lambert yelled with great flourish, sinking to his knees, "SAY THEY'LL LIVE, PHANTASM! I CAN'T AFFORD THE COURT FEES!"

Vanessa smirked. Lambert was such an idiot sometimes, _everyone _knows that _Immortals _didn't die from eating bad candy.

The pair's attention was diverted as all of the Followers' were now randomly muttering.

"Hey, man, let's like give a toast to the founder of our feast!" Came Stanton, a glassy look in his eyes.

"The guy in the trench coat?" Asked Tiny Tymmie.

"No, Lambert!" Stanton cheered.

"Dude, why?" Asked Karyl, convinced he was talking to a pink elephant with a smexy voice and blond hair.

"Because, Lambert is cool. He helps me quilt, and sew, and quilt, and sew, and quilt, and sew, and quilt-"

"Oh no, he's broken!" Observed Murray.

"And sew, and quilt, and sew, and quilt-"

"I'll get the bat!" Skipper supplied, fingers at the ready.

"And sew, and quilt, and sew, and quilt, and sew-"

But Cassandra beat her to the punch, as she slammed the soup ladle on top of Stanton's repetitive head. The Prince of the Night's face crashed against the dumpster lid the Followers used as a table and he was out cold.

"God bless us, everyone!" Tiny Tymmie said happily.

"You already said that," Karyl stated, looking a little unnerved.

"But, God bless us, everyone!" Tiny Tymmie reiterated.

"You know, Tiny Tymmie's right!" Skipper said, "I love Christmas!"

"Me too! I'm sorry for all the misfortune I caused, and I'm going to be kind to everyone from now on," Agreed Cassandra.

"My bubble wrap is going to be donated to bored orphans!" Promised Karyl.

Murray, seeing this as his time to shine, now that all the Followers were choosing that moment to let goodness slip into their corroded, greasy pits they call hearts, smiled, "Yeah, God bless us, everyone!"

Dead silence overcame the rest of the group as they eyed Murray.

"Man, now that _Murray's _doing it too, I don't want to anymore," Cassandra said, crossing her arms and scoffing.

"I can't believed you'd say that!" Contributed Skipper.

"Way to ruin Christmas, man," Karyl spoke.

"God bless us, everyone! …Except Murray," Tiny Tymmie said.

Murray stood up and walked to the other side of the room/house, slowly retreating under the Transformers™ sleeping bag.

Lambert turned to Vanessa, and said levelly, "I don't ever want to come back to this place again. Ever."

The blonde nodded enthusiastically, "Let's get the hell out of here."

And so the two hightailed it out of the freak-infested cesspool, always remembering the lesson of never taking candy from strangers. Especially strangers on Christmas Eve.

**To Be Continued…**

**Dun dun dun…**

**Dot dot dot…**

**I'm done now.**

Up Next: Catty's Secret Kinky Lair


	9. The Safeword is Cephalopod

_Scrooge You_

**AN: **Bet you weren't expecting this one were you::Nym slowly retreats back under a rock::

Mature (but not as mature as you think!) content in this one. Because it's Catty's house, honestly, what would you expect?

**Act Eight: The Safeword is Cephalopod **

Lambert tried desperately to stop the cringe of disgust that crawled up his face as he eyed the house in front of him, "Where the hell are we?" He demanded, sniffing the air carefully. It reeked of earthy scents, hemp, and inner nurturing.

Vanessa sighed, brushing off some imaginary lint on her shoulder, "Catty didn't call me back. I worry."

He stared at her in disbelief, "We're here because you care for the well-being of your friends? Disgusting."

Vanessa scoffed, "Only socially degenerate losers like _you _don't have friends to nag- er, check up on."

"I nag all of the time," he said crossly, "What else is Stanton good for?"

"Sex," she said flatly, before her eyes widened and she clamped a hand in front of her mouth.

"Yeah…" Lambert trailed off.

Vanessa's stare widened even more, "What?!"

Lambert gawked at her, "What?!"

The two stared at each other for about five seconds before they each turned away, whistling dully and praying to god they misheard the other.

"Anyways-" Lambert, master of the transition, started, "Is this the same Catty that I hate?"

Vanessa's lips pursed, "The one you tried to kill?"

"That's the one."

"Then yes. She's supposed to be doing her homework right now, I texted her three times to make sure but she keeps ignoring them and she'll fall behind and not get into a good college and then her dreams will be worth nothing and-"

"Yeesh, you were right about the nagging thing," Lambert declared haughtily, turning to face the house, "Let's just go."

With that, the pair who most certainly did _not _have intimate relations with Stanton because he was _not _the fandom bicycle, entered the house of one very academically irresponsible Catty Turner.

---

Lambert, having lived during the Dark Ages, had seen many horrible things in his time. Iron, chains, and even one deceivingly innocent looking rabbit, but the inside of the Turner home on Christm- The Fourth Week of December's Eve was enough to make his blood curl and his hair boil. Or something like that.

There was…

There was…

Damn dirty hippie memorabilia! The stuff was everywhere, from the posters of various children holding hands over the world to the soothing meditative rock fountain in the corner. This infernal place exuded calm, peace, love, respect, and unity- the very things Lambert and his staunchly immoral code went against!

"I'm going to be sick," he said, doubling over and clenching his gut as he caught a whiff of sandalwood incense.

Vanessa nodded, tossing back a curtain of fabulous blonde hair, "I'm really worried about Catty too."

"Not sick with worry, I'm going to be actually-"

The sound of a whip cracking and a whimper echoed throughout the hallway, and Vanessa's head jerked up.

"That sounds like Catty's in danger!" She declared with a bit of genuine terror in her tone, "If she's in danger she can't study and get good grades!"

Lambert stared at her in a sort of sick fascination. That girl really had to get her priorities straightened out, this coming from a man who had given up the love of his life in exchange for internet surveys, Harry/Draco slash, and chicken potpies.

The whimpering sound escalated, and Vanessa took off towards the living room. Lambert reluctantly followed her. After all, company with the crazy blonde one was preferable to staying in that room of torture and connectivity.

All of the years of training in the dark arts could never have prepared Lambert for what he was about to see. Nothing could have.

Catty, dressed in a santa hat and leather, was sitting on a large, plush recliner. Some good looking boy -because ugly people didn't exist in Los Angeles- was sitting on her lap and squinting his eyes in some sort of pain. He was the first one to notice the two intruders in the Turner home.

"Vanessa?" He asked in confusion.

Catty, who hadn't looked up, rolled her eyes, "Kyle, the safe word was cephalopod. Don't tell me you forgot _again- _Oh, Vanessa's here!" She said, looking up and seeing her best friend standing there, looking very annoyed indeed.

"Catty!" Vanessa said crossly, acting as if the entire scenario was perfectly normal, and from what little Lambert knew about Catty, it probably was, "Why aren't you answering your text messages!"

Catty winked saucily, "I've been a bit preoccupied. Kyle's been a bad, _bad _boy. Haven't you, Kyle?"

He nodded, not appearing remotely ashamed.

Vanessa eyed the recliner critically, "Please tell me you're being careful with the upholstery."

Both Catty and Kyle shared sheepish looks, "You could say that…" Trailed off Kyle.

Lambert paled and tugged on Vanessa's coat, "I want to go back home now." He said in a very, very small voice.

Catty smirked evilly, "Oh, look, Lambert's here!"

Vanessa ignored the comment and sighed heavily, "You know that we have a worksheet due in math two weeks from now. My expectations are _not _being met _at all._"

The time traveler pouted, "Aw, c'mon Vanessa, it's _Christmas._"

"Christmas _Eve,_ Catty," she replied testily.

Lambert's eyes widened as he stared at Vanessa, drawing a correlation between her and a certain maroon-haired Follower.

Catty stretched like a, well, cat, and stared at her best friend, "You need to relax Vanessa. You and Lambert," the evil glint had returned to her eye and Lambert wanted desperately to crawl into a ball and start sucking his thumb, "Should stick around. We're playing charades next."

Kyle clapped his hands in excitement, "I _love _charades!"

Catty pet his head like one would pet a, well, cat, "I know you do." She cooed.

Lambert's disgustingly pale face grew disgustingly paler, "Vanessa, I _really _would like to go back to my apartment now." Sometimes Evil just got Too Evil.

Vanessa looked like she was about to say no, but just then her cellphone when off, she flipped it open, "Hello? Oh, hey Michael!" she muffled the phone with her hand and said to everyone, "Guys, it's Michael!"

Catty and Kyle all chorused rounds of, "Hi Michael!" While Lambert stared at everything but the leather clad couple.

Vanessa turned back to the phone, "They said hi. Oh, Catty wasn't doing her homework- I _know_ she really needs some responsibility in her life. Well, she said something about charades…yes, yes I _know _what happened last time. To be fair, it _was_ your fault since you never said you were allergic to candle wax-"

Lambert mouth-vomited for about the third time that night, "You know, I think I'll just show myself out." He said flatly, marching off towards the door.

Catty, Vanessa, and Kyle all watched him leave. Catty rolled her eyes, "Geez, what a weird ass."

Kyle nodded in agreement, pulling a hooded sweatshirt over his chain mail, "I never heard of such a reaction to charades before."

Catty sighed, pulling on some jeans and a tee shirt as she got candles and lit up the living room, "Maybe he just doesn't appreciate the ambiance of playing charades by candlelight?"

Vanessa shrugged, tossing back her blonde hair and pulling out a box called Disney Charades! and rifling through it. "Michael and I are green team!"

Kyle pouted, sitting cross legged across from her, "But _I _like being green team!"

Vanessa glared at him, and Kyle felt himself shirk back a bit.

Catty pulled out a card, "Okay guys, ready?" They nodded, and Catty started to mimic the movements of Donald the Duck.

---

Lambert heard squeals of laughter coming from behind him, and he did his best to block them out, not knowing what sort of horrible, sordid things were happening in The House of Kinky Horrors.

So focused was he on avoiding naughty thoughts, that he didn't even notice someone was walking on the same sidewalk as he. Because of his distraction, he ended up violently shouldering said person.

"Hey, watch where you're going you _hombre estupido_!" Came a vehement curse.

Lambert looked up and his eyes widened, "Oh no, not the one I fear most of all!"

---

Next Up: The Spirit of Bad Shit That's Going to Go Down.

Two more acts to go! I am FINISHING this Christmas! I VOW IT WITH MY VERY SOUL!


	10. Stolen Shoujo, Covered Tombstone

_Scrooge You_

_AN: _So close! VICTORY SHALL BE MINE!

Er. Translation: One more chapter to go. Thanks for the reviews! You guys rock my world!

**Act Nine: **Stolen Shoujo, Covered Tombstones

Lambert was a brave man. It was an aspect of his character that had been ingrained throughout his knighthood during the Dark Ages, as well as attempting to run a small business in a predominately big box retail economy. He was unafraid of torture, of pain, of nagging women, but one thing…one sole thing made his powder blue fleece-covered kneecaps squeeze together in raw terror.

"You," he whispered, his voice high pitched and his lower lip trembling.

"Me," came the cool, clipped, and deadly voice of one Jimena Castillo. She stood, looking rather bored, with one hip propped up and her arms folded across her chest. She was dressed head to toe in black, a bandana tied tightly across her forehead with 'El Futuro' (Jimena was bilingual, and sought to establish some culture this Feliz Navidad) scrawled across it.

Lambert was quickly backing away, "It was nice seeing you, but my apartment's that way, and I'm _very _busy tonight-"

"Freeze!" Jimena barked.

Lambert froze.

"I don't want to be here anymore than you," she said coldly, a dark aura surrounding her, "But Selene commanded that we redeem your sorry ass so you are going to sit down, shut up, and be goddamned redeemed. Comprede?"

Lambert sat down and nodded silently.

"Bueno." Jimena said, the darkened aura vanishing, "Now, let's get this shit over with. I've got the ability to take you to only one future Christmas so let's make it a good one."

Lambert stood up, an eyebrow raised, "Only one?"

Jimena glared at him, "Yes. Only one."

"But the others took me on many-"

"Do you have a problem with how I do things?" She snapped.

Lambert lowered his head, looking at the now grimy toes of his footy pajamas, "No ma'am."

"Then let's go. Follow me into this ominous portal." With that, an ominous portal, framed by day glow neon signs, appeared. Jimena sauntered into it, and Lambert reluctantly trailed after her.

---

When the odd pair exited, the portal disappeared behind them. Lambert was a bit freaked by this, but didn't want to squeal girlishly in front of the intimidating Daughter and so wisely kept his mouth shut. They were standing in the downtrodden part of Los Angeles, several hobos were huddling around garbage fires, rubbing their hands together for warmth. One of them was peeing on a mailbox. Such a strange time this was indeed.

Rain poured down from the sky, leading Lambert to wonder how a garbage fire could continue to function, and several men in dark, hooded robes were crowded around under several umbrellas. Lambert, knowing that every man that had an umbrella opened for rain was a sissy, immediately recognized them.

"I know these men! They're from the Incinti!"

Jimena rolled her eyes, "No talking." She hissed.

Lambert was quiet again, but he strained his ear to hear the conversation.

"I heard he's finally kicked the bucket," chortled a heavier Incinti member.

"I heard he _cried_ during _The Notebook!_" Another one supplied.

"What a sissy!" Said the fat one. Several of the Incinti members chuckled heartily.

"It's about time he's gone, but now I wonder what he did with all of his money!"

"Don't be foolish, he never had any money! I have it on good authority that he bought all of his dark robes from Sears!" Came a tall one.

"Do ho ho," laughed the group.

Lambert turned to Jimena, a soulful look in his eyes, "Spirit-"

"Jimena."

"Spirit Jimena-"

"Just Jimena fool."

"Jimena fool, who is this man that these Followers talk so much smack about?"

Jimena growled, wondering how someone who was such an idiot could survive for so long, "Just follow me."

Lambert shrugged, and Jimena led him inside of an almost dilapidated warehouse. There, Lambert was surprised to see, was a large divan, that was surrounded by tons of antiquities and oddly enough a hookah pipe. A rather strapping young lad lay sprawled across the divan, and a blonde girl who looked _awfully _familiar was kneeling in front of him.

"Let's see, let's see, what have you got for Old Jerome?" The boy said, sitting up and looking at the blonde.

The blonde huffed, "Cut the crap Jerome, you're only twenty five."

Jerome's lower lip quibbled, "You're so mean Morgan!"

The girl rolled her eyes, "What. Ever."

Lambert turned towards Jimena, "I think my girlfriend was once in her pants."

Jimena's eyebrow ticked.

"The old fart barely had anything tasteful," Morgan said, opening up a rather large sack, "All I was able to find is this-" she handed Old Jerome some books.

Lambert squealed when he saw what they were, "Ouran High School Host Club Limited Edition! I have that volume at home!" He felt Jimena's glare on him, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, "Er, it's a very valuable collectible. I feel horrible for whoever this hussy stole it from."

Morgan sneezed, before digging into the sack again, "And this-"

Lambert squealed again, "The entire boxed set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer season three! That's the best season by far! I love my copy!"

Jimena crossed her arms and wondered when Lambert would finally get the picture.

"Ah, it will fetch a high price on Amazon dot com," Old Jerome said appreciatively. Some things were just timeless. Buffy the Vampire Slayer was one of those things.

"And there was this too." Morgan said at last, revealing man-sized footy pajamas that were powder blue in color and had a fish with the saying 'Catch of the Day' on them.

Lambert's eyes widened, "Those are identical to _my _pajamas! I thought they were a one of a kind pair!"

Jimena exhaled happily, glad that Lambert was seeing reason.

"Those bastards! Mass producing my nighties!" Lambert cried in indignation, "Someone will **pay**."

Jimena gaped at him in a sort of horrified curiosity. Was he _really _that dumb? She slammed her palm against her face, "You know what, let's go somewhere else."

Lambert pouted, "But I want to see what else this girl has in her magical bag of fun-"

"No."

Lambert fell silent and allowed himself to be dragged away to another scene.

---

His face fell when he recognized a very familiar one roomed house with a hole the size of Lambert's head in the wall. "Not here _again,_" he whined.

"Just shut up and be humbled." Jimena declared, looking at her watch, "We're running behind schedule as it is because _certain _morons can't take a _freaking clue._"

Lambert stared at her in confusion, "But Jimena fool, there's only the two of us here-"

Just then the door to the one roomed house flew open, a rather distraught Murray sobbing viciously as he ran out of the building and into the merciless cold of a seventy degree night clad in nothing but a Goodbye Franchise midriff shirt.

"Tears!" cried Lambert, "This is the best Fourth Week of December ever!"

Jimena scowled and grabbed Lambert by the collar, dragging him into the house.

Cassandra sat in front of a stove, sniffling sadly while Skipper fed the fire with the U-Haul dinner plates. Karyl was laughing violently, rolling around on bubble wrap that was placed on the ground.

"Wee!" Karyl said giggling, "Murray's gone and I have bubble wrap! This is the best Christmas ever!"

Cassandra nodded, her sniffles caused by tears of joy escalating brilliantly now that the lame ass Follower was gone forever.

"Who would have thought that all we had to do was insult his hairstyle?" Contributed Skipper, tossing the plates into the uncontrolled fire happily.

Lambert turned to Jimena, "Is there a point to any of this?"

"Just watch moron."

"…okay," he said in a small voice.

The door to the one-roomed house opened suddenly, and a somber looking Stanton entered the room. His hair, once fabulous, was now slightly less fabulous as it hung over his eyes morosely.

Cassandra, ever the clingy whore for attention, flocked to his side immediately, "How was the hilltop?" She said in a soft voice.

Stanton sighed dramatically, "You should have been there, Cassandra, it was so green."

Cassandra's nose wrinkled a bit in distaste, but Stanton saw the need to continue talking melodramatically.

"The hill overlooks the harbor, and you can see the ducks swimming down the river."

"Tymmie…always did enjoy watching the ducks swim in the river," Cassandra agreed sadly.

Karyl stopped his incessant rolling and stared out into the distance wistfully. Skipper turned her back on the slowly spreading fire, wiping her eyes on the cardboard.

"Is Tiny Tymmie dead or something?" Lambert asked tactlessly at Jimena, who shrugged, obviously in that special state of not-give-a-damn.

"The worst part is…" Stanton trailed off and patiently waited until he held everyone's undivided attention, "Is that with Tiny Tymmie moving out, our attractiveness as a whole is down by about ten percent."

All three of the other Followers gasped, clutching their hearts.

"It's true." Stanton said, tossing his hair, "I'm going to have to cover all of the slack now that Tiny Tymmie is gone. If only my greedy, heartless, _totally dead_ _and grave robbed _employer had given me enough money. Then perhaps I could have supported another lackey and improved our physical appeal."

Cassandra patted Stanton's arm consolingly, "There, there dear. At least Murray left."

"Finally." Grunted Karyl and Skipper in unison.

Lambert's mouth fell slack, "You mean Stanton has another boss now?!"

Jimena clenched her fist, this evil, unattractive man was as dense as granite. She stood up, grabbed his collar again, and started pulling him into another ominous portal. "I've got shit to _do _you know, and you're dragging ass on this whole humble revelation thing."

Lambert scratched his head, "I just don't understand what you're saying-"

"Of course you don't." Jimena snarled before they were whisked away.

---

They reemerged in an eerie looking graveyard, pale tombstones covered in frost surrounding them. Scratching his head, Lambert looked at Jimena, "Alright, now I'm _really _lost."

Jimena responded by promptly kicking him in the butt, sending him flying towards one of the grave markers. His head collided with the thing, and he fought down the- very manly mind you- whimpers of pain. He didn't want to appear weak in front of the scary Daughter.

"Why would you kick me?" He accused hurtfully.

"Just look at the tombstone."

"But it _hurt-_"

"The tombstone. Look at it."

Lambert sniffled and used the sleeve of his pajamas to start wiping away at the frost. Slowly, letters began to form. Lambert looked back in awe.

"LAMB MAMA?" He asked in confusion.

"For god's sake, erase all of the frost you idiot!" Barked Jimena, getting very cross indeed.

Lambert sighed, and finished clearing the frost. Terror dawned upon his pinched features.

LAMBERT MALMARIS

"Hey! That's my name!"

Jimena exhaled happily, "About freaking time."

"That doesn't make any sense whatsoever! I'm too Immortal to die!" Lambert protested.

Deciding that this was a lost cause and Selene could just take a celestial hike, Jimena gripped Lambert's cold, clammy, unwashed hand and the two vanished. Again. She was getting pretty good at it.

---

Lambert woke up to find himself in his bed. After giving a careful lookout to make sure the Goddess He Feared Most of All had disappeared, he settled comfortably into his covers.

"Stupid Selene, thinking she could scare me by having my name on a tombstone. What a laugh," he said drowsily, returning to a sweet, sweet slumber.

However, it then hit Lambert like a gagillion volts of electricity.

"Oh shit!" He proclaimed, sitting up straight with a horrified look in his eyes, "That was _my _stuff they were stealing!" He looked skyward, "I'll change! I swear I'll change!"

And Lambert crawled back into bed, awaiting Christmas fearfully with his shoujo manga collection tucked securely under his arm.

**Next Up: **"You there, boy!" "I'm a girl!" "Whatever! Bring me a big ass turkey!"


	11. Tis the Season

**AN: **The lyrics of Lambert's song are a parody from Scrooge's song _A Muppet Christmas Carol. _If it's a parody it ain't plagarism! Yay!

**Final Act: 'Tis the Season**

The sunlight of Christmas morning drifted gently through the open slits in the blinds, softly landing on the sleeping Lambert's face. Birds outside chirped happily, and improbable snow fell angelically from the sky. It was a beautiful morning, a morning of redemption, of kindness, of Christmas warmth-

_MAH MAH MAH_

-went Lambert's alarm, effectively ruining the lovely tranquility.

Lambert blinked blearily, it slowly registering that it was Christmas Day, the day that he would forsake his evil ways and Begin Life Anew.

Lambert hit snooze. It was freaking cold and his bed was comfy, damn it.

---

When the newly reformed evil overlord finally got his lazy ass out of bed, the first thing he did (after securing his shoujo manga of course), was to fling open the windows of his apartment dramatically, crushing the chirping birds that were resting on the ledge to death.

"Ah," he said, "Christmas morning at last!"

An eerie sensation occurred when Lambert said the word 'Christmas' instead of the traditional 'Fourth Week of December'. An inner glow sparked in him, and he felt…lighter.

He looked down and noticed a person walking underneath his window ledge, overcome with good tidings, he yelled down.

"You there! Boy!"

The person looked up, revealing one slightly annoyed telekinetic Daughter of the Moon who was most certainly _not _a boy, "I'm a girl!"

Lambert rolled his eyes, "Whatever. Bring me a big ass turkey!"

Tianna scowled, "Buy your own groceries! I have things to _do_, you know!"

Lambert wondered why all of these new deities were awfully preoccupied all of the time, "I'll pay you double! It's to host a Christmas feast at Stanton's home!"

Tianna's nose scrunched up in distaste, "Why would you want to go there? It's dirty."

Lambert sighed, "I'm redeeming my awful personality by being kind to a slightly less awful personality."

Tianna scratched her head, "Double?" She inquired.

Lambert cringed a bit, but a hand went to the pocket of his nighties all the same, "Double." He said, tossing a sack full of all nickels down to her. (Lambert believed that if he kept his money in small coins, it would feel like he had more of it.)

The sack clocked Tianna square on the head, and she crumpled like a sack of potatoes, or more fittingly, a sack of nickels.

Lambert, of course, paid no mind, strolling away from the window whistling a gentle tune. It was Christmas! He had joys to bring!

Tianna lay on the ground, getting slowly covered with snow. Some kids began to steal some of the nickels.

---

With a jaunty sort of cheer, Lambert fixed the dusty top hat on his head, giving it a slant to appear more gentleman like. His pajamas had been changed in favor of an expensive charcoal gray not black suit. Good tidings were coming! In fact, Lambert felt so damn generous that…

That…

That…he wanted to sing!

The Follower opened the door with great zeal, carefully sidestepping over the unconscious Daughter of the Moon. In his arms was a large wicker basket carried with a multitude of presents.

Clearing his throat, Lambert allowed the song of the season to settle in his heart, as he started walking, "_It's in the slashing of a mean person's tire, it's pushing jerks into a roaring fire. It's true whenever you need revenge, it feels like Christmas!"_

Several people stopped in their tracks, eyeing the singing nut job with wary concern.

"Merry Christmas!" Lambert broke his song to say happily, "_A cup of toxin that we share with another, tons of presents that we destroy for another. Oh yes wherever you find revenge, it feels like Christmas!"_

A kid aimed a snowball at him, but it flew by his head.

Lambert added a little skip to his step as he came across a very familiar place, _"It is, the vengeance of the spirit, the message if you hear it, to make it last all year!_" He opened the door and went on in.

Bypassing all of the hippie items, Lambert entered the living room where Vanessa, Michael, Catty, and Kyle were playing Scrabble. Catty and Kyle looked at him in shock.

"Merry Christmas!" Beamed Lambert, tossing a package from the wicker basket of giving at them. Kyle caught it and looked at it in confusion.

"Condoms?"

"I'd like to invite you to a grand turkey dinner at Stanton's house!" Lambert pressed on, not even paying attention to the nervous looks on the teens' faces.

Michael looked up at Lambert, "Do you even have his permission to have dinner at his house?"

"Merry Christmas!" Lambert said with more force, dancing out of the house.

Kyle looked offended, "Hey, these are _extra small _sized condoms!"

---

"_A time a child will always remember, ruining their otherwise happy December-" _Lambert continued to sing off-key as he entered the Castillo residence, where Serena and Jimena were in the kitchen making cookies.

"Here you go, you young whippersnappers!" Lambert said in a jolly manner, tossing two presents at the girls who caught them easily. "And I want to invite you to Stanton's house for Christmas supper!"

Serena stared blankly at the leopard-print leotard, "Um, Stanton can't cook-"

Jimena outright glared at the pink My Little Pony quilt.

"Merry Christmas!" Lambert said again, quickly exiting.

---

"_It's true wherever you find revenge, it feels like Christmas!_" Lambert stopped singing when he recognized a very familiar hobo peeing on a very familiar mailbox, and out of his wicker basket he pulled a out a jar, "Here you are my good sir."

The hobo took the jar and started peeing in it instead.

"Merry Christmas!" Lambert called, before he made the final steps to Stanton's house.

---

Lambert knocked very sharply on the door towards Stanton's one roomed house. After about twenty minutes of straight persistant knocking, a bleary eyed Stanton finally opened the door. His eyes widened.

"Oh shit, Lambert, not today. I've got a killer hangover and-"

"Stanton!" Barked Lambert in a false cold tone, "I demand you let me into your house and serve food to a ton of people that you don't even necessarily like."

Suddenly, Cassandra appeared in the door frame, soup ladle in hand, "Oh _hell _no, you think you can just barge on in here and take over our one-"

Cassandra didn't even get to finish her rant before Lambert barged on in there and took over their one-roomed house. He kicked the Transformers sleeping bag, where a half awake Skipper surfaced.

"Who are you?" She asked in confusion.

"Doesn't matter. Get to the stove and cook women!" Lambert demanded, thrusting the rest of the basket at her, which contained various instant potpies.

Skipper looked over at Cassandra, who was still ranting angrily at the Lambert-sized space in front of the door. Stanton looked as if he were about to puke. Knowing that this was going to be a losing battle no matter what happened, Skipper obediently went to the stove and began to cook the potpies.

"Good," Lambert said, before he kicked away the young man in the Hello Kitty midriff, "Useless one?"

Murray blinked awake at him, "Yeah?"

"I'm here to forcibly bring good cheer to your home!"

Murray's face brightened and he jerked wide awake, excited to share Christmas, "Yeah!"

"So I need you to leave the house for the afternoon."

Murray's face fell, and he sulkily began to pack his things, "…yeah."

Then Lambert turned towards Karyl, who was discretely hiding in a corner, "You! You're in charge of decorations! I want festive bubble wrap and sea-creature-murdering décor everywhere! Get to it!"

Karyl saluted, sprinting to bring festivity to the drab one room house.

Lambert then turned towards Tiny Tymmie, who was sitting very adorably on a small stool, "And you!" He said, Tiny Tymmie looked up with watery eyes. Lambert felt himself turn into a giant woobie, "Aw, you just sit there and look adorable!"

Tiny Tymmie nodded, "Can do!"

Lambert clapped his hands together, very worn out from bossing everybody around, "That'll do it."

---

Forty minutes later, everyone sat around the large table in the middle of the one-roomed house, miniature potpies set out for everyone. At the head of the table was Lambert, who wore a very disconcerting smile. But no one saw reason to complain, because he at least wasn't singing anymore.

"God bless us, everyone!" Tiny Tymmie said, before several people grunted and began to dig into their chicken potpies. Lambert himself didn't eat anything, only watched as the Daughters and Followers dug hungrily into their Christmas feast, his smile turning into a nasty sneer as they finished their meals.

The reaction was instant, "Uh, I don't feel so good," mumbled Catty, a hand going over her mouth.

"Me neither…" agreed Serena, as she started eying the one room house for a bathroom. Which was a silly thing to do for obvious reasons.

In a mere instant, it was pandemonium as several people ran around frantically, searching for a restroom. Lambert began to laugh evilly at the head of the table.

"I put a significant amount of laxatives in all of the potpies! That'll teach you hooligans to force Christmas on me!" He said evilly, "And don't even **think **about stealing my pajamas!"

And so, on this wondrous Christmas Day, it was not Lambert who learned a lesson, but Selene. The lesson learned? That some guys are just jerks, and no amount of holiday cheer is ever going to change that. Ever.

**The End.**


	12. Roll Credits!

**Credits:**

**Zey Cast (In order of appearance):**

_Ebenezer Scrooge: _Lambert Malmaris

_Bob Cratchit: _Stanton

_Nephew Fred: _Catty Turner

_Jacob Marley: _Malcolm McMalcy

_The Spirit of Christmas Past: _Serena Killingsworth

_Fan Scrooge: _Catty's Dad

_Fezziwig: _The Atrox

_Dick: _Zahi

_Mrs. Fezziwig/Isabel: _Ursula/Aura

_The Spirit of Christmas Present: _Vanessa Cleveland

_Peter Cratchit: _Karyl the Sexmuffin

_Mrs. Cratchit: _Cassandra

_Younger Cratchit: _Murray

_Martha Cratchit: _Kelly 'Skipper'

_Tiny Tim: _Tymmie

_Mrs. Fred: _Kyle the Whipping Boy

_The Spirit of Christmas Yet To Come: _Jimena Castillo

_Laundress: _Morgan Paige

_Old Joe: _Old Jerome

_Boy: _Tianna Moore

_Narrator: _Nymarrator

Many of the cast members do not plan on acting again in the future. However, The Atrox is a registered member of the Screen Actors Guild and encourages you all to see him star in a contemporary version of _Gone With The Wind._

**And we're out!**

**Thank you to all the reviewers and readers!**

**!nym!**


End file.
